What the Facel is a Fucking Vega

"What do you mean?"

"You asked for a raincheck when you were offered your job back."

"I forgot about the raincheck but I've given the job offer a lot of thought and decided that if I took it would mean I was working for you and I won't be obligated to my father-in-law. So, I'll have to pass."

"Goddammit, Ryan. We don't want you working for anyone else in Houston, and Christine's mother and I don't want her moving someplace else. So we'll have to come up with something."

"Let's finish Spenser and see what happens. Deal?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked with a grin. And we shook hands.

I shook my head no and that seemed to be the signal for everybody to come into the trailer. The workday always started with a meeting of all the different trade supervisors before work began. After the meeting, Dennis, Martin, Mr. Tarver and I were left. Mr. Tarver spoke. "Dennis, Marty, I suppose I should tell you that Ryan has officially turned down our offer of a full-time job." I saw the look of disappointment on their faces. "He has, however, agreed to stay on in his current capacity until Spenser is completed." I could see sighs of relief. "At which time, we'll see what happens." Then, he tossed out as casually as he could as he walked out. "Oh, by the way. He and my daughter are getting married." Nobody could miss the grin on his face.

Six months later, Christine and I were married. When we left the church, we saw, parked on the street outside, the ugly blue, one of 36, 1958 Facel Vega FV 4 Typhoon with a big red bow on it and a sign saying "Congratulations" leaning against it. Christine and I stopped and were just staring at it when my father-in-law moved between us, put an arm around each of us. "She's all yours," he said. "I'm happy to get rid of the ugly piece of shit."